


strong shot of whiskey

by alsoalsowik



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Heartache, Pining, Weddings, but not like a lot of drinking, i'm sorry guys this is not fluff lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsoalsowik/pseuds/alsoalsowik
Summary: Scott starts crying as soon as Tessa makes her appearance at the end of the aisle, clutching her father’s arm. He doesn’t blubber like Danny and Charlie bet he would, but his eyes water and send his vision glassy, turning Tessa into a something out of a church windowpane. With every step she takes accompanied by Pachebel’s Canon in D, Scott thinks of a time he’s imagined this: Tessa in a stunning white gown gliding towards him in front of all their friends and family.Only, in all of those fantasies, Scott was more than just a groomsman.





	strong shot of whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys, i know i said the next thing i was planning on writing was going to be fluffy n cute, and i have not forgotten! that fic is going to be longer than a standard one-shot for me, and this just came to me. you can blame thomas rhett's "marry me," which is most definitely my inspiration, as well as where the title is from. 
> 
> (scott, if you're reading, you'll be happy to note the lack of "scotty" anywhere in this fic. you're welcome, bud.)

Scott starts crying as soon as Tessa makes her appearance at the end of the aisle, clutching her father’s arm. He doesn’t blubber like Danny and Charlie bet he would, but his eyes water and send his vision glassy, turning Tessa into a something out of a church windowpane. With every step she takes accompanied by Pachebel’s Canon in D, Scott thinks of a time he’s imagined this: Tessa in a stunning white gown gliding towards him in front of all their friends and family.

 

Only, in all of those fantasies, Scott was more than just a groomsman.

 

He’s still not entirely sure why Oliver asked him, but he has a hunch it had to do with a certain green-eyed bride. They were all out to dinner—Tessa, Oliver, and him, in what remains the most painfully awkward encounter of Scott’s adult life—when he got the invitation.

 

“So what do you say, Moore?” Oliver had asked, still not pronouncing his last name correctly, despite only referring to him as such. Beside him, Tessa had offered a, “It would mean the world to me, Scott.” And how could he have said no?

 

Which brings him to the worst fucking day of his life. Worse than Sochi, by far. Jordan, maid of honor extraordinaire, keeps shooting him looks that say _Jesus Christ, pull it together,_ and he’s pretty sure Chiddy and Andrew, somewhere in the back few rows, are preparing an extraction plan for when he inevitable _does_ start bawling.

 

Oliver’s vows go in one ear and out the other, but Tessa’s burrow inside his brain and burn the whole way through. “You’re the only man I could ever see myself spending the rest of my life with,” she says, and Scott wants to scream. She’s lying, and they both know it. Oliver seems none the wiser and stands there in his six-foot-two glory, beaming like he just won the damn lottery. Scott wipes furiously at his eyes, pretending it’s just due to Tessa’s eloquence and elegance.

 

When they kiss, Scott drops his gaze to the ground like he’s been burned. Then everyone’s clapping and it’s over and Tessa’s _married_ to someone who isn’t him.

 

Oliver’s friends and brothers hoot and holler when he scoops Tessa up and carries her bridal-style back up the aisle. Scott tries to smile, really does, but it probably looks more like a grimace. He walks with Kaetlyn behind Oliver’s accounting partner and Jordan and makes a solid effort at ignoring how her hand keeps patting his like a consolation.

 

They make it to the clearing where Tessa’s fancy photographer is set to take about a billion pictures of the wedding party in excellent time, even though it felt like a death march. The first snapshot is classic, Oliver dipping Tessa in an exaggerated kiss, her bouquet in hand about a foot from the ground. An Instagram staple, no doubt. He grits his teeth and bears it, focussing on Tessa’s smile. But then the photographer, completely tone deaf, calls for, “Just Tessa and Scott now! It’ll be so cute!”

 

He wants to die immediately. Just fucking burrow into the ground, because all of these strangers and Tessa’s _husband_ have to watch him try not to have a mental breakdown standing next to the only thing he’s wanted since he was nine years old.

 

Tessa beams at Oliver, then turns and grabs Scott’s hand. His vision goes spotty, and suddenly he’s transported back to when they did that damn bridal photoshoot before Sochi. It was Tessa’s idea, and while it had been fun, Scott was terrified that it set off a real, tangible want inside him.

 

Back then, he’d done everything in his power to ignore the inevitable; Cassandra, Kaitlyn, and about half a dozen nameless flings were the chaser to the shot of Tessa he did during every practice, performance, and interview. Then came Pyeongchang and, despite what the entire fucking internet might hav thought, they weren’t dating. It was always a conversation for _after:_ after gold, after tour, after _another_ tour. Enter Oliver Young, a prominent Montreal CPA—a friend of a friend Scott’s never met.

 

“I love you, Scott, but I’m not just going to sit around and wait for you,” Tessa had said after one blind date, and then another. “Not again.”

 

He’d wanted _so_ badly to grab her, kiss her, and explain in painstaking detail that he was done waiting, that he wanted—no, needed—them. Finally.

 

But he didn’t, and here they are two years later.

 

A camera flash nearly makes Scott jump out of his skin, followed by a, “Sorry, just a test shot!” from the photographer. “Okay, now come in closer, please!”

 

Tessa fits herself into his side like she always has, one arm curling around his shoulders. He responds on instinct, wrapping his arm low around her waist, hand settling on her hip. She sighs something contented and turns a little closer in the circle of his embrace.

 

“Watch the hands, Moore!” Oliver calls, directing a chorus of giggles from the bridal party.

 

In a moment of either stupidity or latent anger, Scott shoots back a, “Nowhere they haven’t been before,” and grimaces when the crowd around them falls silent.

 

Then Tessa, beautiful, always knows what she’s talking about and how to turn a narrative around Tessa, adds, “Oh, come on, you’ve all seen our lifts!” and the group erupts into chuckles and small talk again. “Really, Scott?” she whispers, low and precise, like they’re on the ice, talking through a competition. “I thought you were over this.”

 

_Over this_. As if he could ever be over the bond and chemistry they’ve spent over twenty years cultivating. Like all the times they were standing on the precipice of something so big and all-encompassing that they had to back down mean nothing. Like he doesn’t know the ins and outs of her body, mind, and soul. Instead of voicing any of this and risking coming out of this an even bigger ass than he’s already shaping up to be, Scott gives her hip a reassuring squeeze and whispers back, “Sorry, Tess.”

 

They finish up the pictures and pile into cars heading to the reception, with Tessa and Oliver heading up the rear in a limo decorated with white streamers and bells. Scott winds up between Oliver’s brother and best man, the latter passing a flask of whiskey around the car. When it reaches Scott, he takes a long swig and almost chokes on it when the brother—Elliot, he thinks—turns and asks, “So you’re pretty hung up on Tessa, huh?”

 

“Excuse me?” Scott sets the flask on the floorboard and coughs once for good measure. “What the fuck are you asking?”

 

“You’ve been on the verge of tears all night and I saw how you were talking pictures. I get it, man. Must be pretty rough for you.”

 

“You have no idea what you’re taking about,” Scott starts. “T’s my best friend, and it’s never been like that.” A blatant, unchecked lie, but like hell he’s going to admit anything to Tessa’s brother in-law on her damn wedding day. “And you’d be wise to stop talking, because I might be an ice dancer, but I’ll sock you in the fucking jaw if you do anything thatcould ruin today for Tessa.” He picks the flask back up and downs the rest of the whiskey in one gulp.

 

The rest of the car ride is silent.

 

During the reception, Scott gives a speech to a chorus of awws, mostly from Tessa’s side. Kate stands and claps when he’s done, setting off the most uncomfortable standing ovation he’s ever received. He smiles for the entourage of cell phones and cameras flashing around him, but then Oliver’s whisking Tessa onto the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife and Scott has to remember all of those breathing techniques B2Ten taught them in the lead up tp Korea to keep from losing it.

 

He doesn’t hold her right when they dance; Oliver’s hand is too high up on her waist and his fingers grip hers too tightly. Scott can tell Oliver wants the focus on him from the way he’s exaggerating the steps and trying big, elaborate spins with entirely too much gusto. Tessa should be the one to shine, sparkling in her white gown and dark curls. Scott always said he knew he was doing his job right when he faded into the background and Tessa was the focus.

 

_Let Tessa shine, let your skating shine, and keep everything else out of the public eye. A romantic relationship will only distract from the hard work you’ve put in your whole lives. Don’t rush into anything—you’ve got forever after the Olympics._

 

Those mantras repeat themselves over and over again in Scott’s head while he sulks off to the bar for another drink. They’d both agreed on this, especially right before their comeback. Scott had always assumed they were still on the same page.

 

Maybe that’s why Tessa married someone else.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come join me in my obsession on twitter (moirorless) or tumblr (moirthandating)! fluff will be coming soon; as always, comments mean the world to me!


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